Revolver
by SWhite42
Summary: She'd played the call girl, the prostitute, the blushing schoolgirl, the trophy girlfriend, the fianceé, even the wife...but never herself, never Natasha. She spent so long burying herself under layers and layers of things that just weren't her that she'd forgotten what having relationships simply for the sake of connecting with another person felt like…But there was Clint.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everybody! This is my latest fic, and it's actually a story to previous one titled ****In the Land of Gods and Monsters****, though I don't think you have to read it to understand what's going on. **

**I sort of split the story by the progression of their relationship from partners to friends, and then friend to…? I don't know yet, we'll find out together, I guess. **

**Reviews and the like are super welcome and helpful and very much appreciated. **

**Thank you so much!**

"Did you get one of these too?" Natasha asked, gesturing to the postal box brimming with paperwork that had been left on her desk.

"Unfortunately, yeah." Clint told her as he leafed through the top sheets of paper in the box. "And I already talked to Coulson. We actually have to do all this shit."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Natasha sat down in her chair exasperatedly.

"I know."

"This is like eight months worth of paperwork."

"I know." Clint perched on the edge of her desk, scooting the box over a few inches with his hip. "What time are you here 'till?"

"I'm in training until 5, why?"

"Why don't you come over to my place when you're finished? I'll make a metric fuck-ton of coffee and we can get this all done." Clint tried not to sound too hopeful when he asked suggested it to her.

"Yeah, that sounds good. But, I should get going." She said, glancing up at the clock in the room. "See you tonight." She called over her shoulder as she left Clint for the training rooms. Leaving him with a small smile on his face until he got up to leave as well, he had a meeting with Fury.

So it's been five years since Natasha joined SHIELD, five years with Clint as a partner. Most of those five years had been good, well as good as things can be with Natasha. The first few years were pretty rocky, and arguments between them still came to blows more often than Clint would like, but they were largely good. Until last year when Natasha had gotten kidnapped by the very organization she'd left when she was still a teenager, The Red Room. She'd been tortured and starved within an inch of her life for month before SHIELD could get to her, but she'd lived and that was an incredible feat all by itself.

Her recovery was long and hard. Getting her body back to health and into fighting shape was frustrating for her, and agonizing as well. She'd train until her body collapsed from exhaustion and she was coughing up blood onto the training mats.

She danced a lot to help get her back in shape, strengthening and stretching her muscles and joints. The rigorous ballet regimen from her youth was still fresh in her mind as she forced herself en pointe again every time she fell until her shoes were stained red. There were times when she'd slam into the unforgiving wood floor, unable to break her fall in time and unable to pull herself up again, and, instead of being greeted by an electric shock or being dragged back onto her feet by her hair as she'd remembered, Clint would be there. He'd call her an idiot as he carried her to a chair and helped her out of her shoes, working very hard not to tear at the broken skin of her feet even more, then he'd bandage up the worst of the injuries as best he could.

That was their routine for a long time. Once Natasha had been cleared for active duty they'd been sent on a deep-cover mission for about six months to gather intel, well it was supposed to be longer than six months but Natasha got bored and the whole thing kind of collapsed on itself. But, it was weird for them, new territory. They had posed as a married couple and had more than one groundbreaking moment in their relationship.

Natasha was physically recovered but she still carried the weight of everything that had happened to her and the weight of her past was fresh in her head and she didn't deal with it quite as productively as she could have. It took her nearly dying of an overdose of antidepressants until she really began to move on and Clint had talked about his own past more openly than he ever had before.

Then they got back home, well back to New York, and Natasha was assigned to interrogate a Red Room employee the'd gotten their hands on and that had had mixed results. On one hand, Natasha was sucked back into her past and she tortured and killed a man in a terrifying and gruesome manner. On the other hand, Natasha and Clint got around to deciding that maybe, just maybe, there was something more than friendship between them. Though they hadn't yet gotten around to discussing what their relationship actually was now, they were content just to let things be. And has he walked through the winding halls to Fury's office he wondered just how long things would and could stay this calm between them.

"Agent Barton, take a seat." Fury didn't even look up as Clint entered the room until he was took a seat.

"You wanted to see me, sir." It was sort of a half-question, half-statement. Fury rarely wanted to see either of them these days.

"You are aware of Romanoff's interrogation, aren't you?" That definitely wasn't actually a question. That was the tone of voice Fury always used when Clint had broken one or more rules and he was just kind of tired of dealing with it. Not unlike a hopeless parent with a rebellious kid, no surprise, just disappointment.

"Yes, I am."

"And you are aware that that particular activity was highly classified?" _Oh boy, _Clint thought as he settled in for a long and unpleasant conversation with his boss.

"Yes, I am."

"And you found out about this interrogation from Coulson?"

"Not really, I kinda just guessed."

"Oh, you guessed?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"So when you _guessed _where Agent Romanoff was you decided the best course of action was to break into the most secure wing of the SHIELD base?"

"Naturally, yeah." Fury looked like he was about to explode, Clint had that effect on him.

"And you did this using an access card that you stole from your handler?"

"Well, I wouldn't really call it stealing. It was more like borrowing."

"Borrowing implies the intention of giving it back." Fury pointed out.

"It was going to get back to him someday." Clint shot back with a shrug.

"I swear, you two are going to be the death of me. Neither of you can take orders and neither of you can follow a goddamn rule to save your life. I'm of a mind to suspend the both of you from active missions until you can learn to follow basic orders." Clint didn't really expect this to go well, but suspension seemed a little harsh for what he'd done. Especially considering nothing changed.

"However," Fury continued. "You may be able to redeem yourself Agent Barton." Okay, Clint really didn't like the sound of that.

"How?" The apprehension was clear in his voice.

"Tell me about Agent Romanoff."

"What?"

"I know she hasn't told any of us the truth about her. I'm betting you're the closest thing she has to a friend and you'd know more about her than anyone. I want to know who I took on five years ago and who I risked my job for."

"Well, she's a Leo and a vegetarian. And after that interrogation I'm beginning to understand why she doesn't eat meat. Uhh...she prefers cats to dogs. And, oh! She's big into cocktails. And she only drinks beer if it's craft beer. Though she owns like a $400 bottle of wine."

"Barton, I'm being serious." Clint could hear the warning in his voice but steadfastly ignored it, he was having too much fun with this.

"She drinks her coffee black. And she only sleeps on her left side. Let's see...what else? She can play the piano, and the cello as well as being trained in classical ballet. She can make a mean mojito, if you're interested."

"You are hear by suspended from active duty missions until further notice, Barton. You are reassigned to Archives until further notice." Fury sat back in his chair with that smug look on his face that always made Clint want to punch him.

"There's nothing I can tell you that you don't already know, Fury. Honestly, she's not as difficult as you make her out to be."

"What do you know about her past?"

"Honestly, not that much. She's told me a few things, but always in the vaguest of details and without names. We don't really talk about it, and it doesn't come up as often as you'd think. Plus the last time I pressed the issue she nearly stabbed me."

"Do we have any reason to doubt her loyalties?" Okay, so _that's _the reason that Fury wanted to talk to him.

"I trust Natasha completely." He told him with the same dead-seriousness that Fury always had with him, and it was the God's-honest truth.

"You're excused, Barton." Fury dismissed him brusquely, still seeming dissatisfied with the answer he was given, but he also knew that was all he was going to get.

"Am I still suspended?" Clint asked as he got up to leave.

"I'll think about it. Now, get out of my office. Coulson tells me you have some paperwork to do." Fury smirked as Clint rolled his eyes in frustration, leaving the office in a bit of a huff about the whole thing. He understood why Fury had new reservations about Natasha. After all that Russia business she could easily have turned her cloak again for the Russians, but he still didn't enjoy being used as an informant of Natasha. Even if it was for security purposes. He shrugged, putting the whole thing out of his mind as he lugged both boxes out to his car and made his way home.

Meanwhile, Natasha was being used for a new recruit training demonstration. Coulson had her pitted against several of the bigger SHIELD agents and the recruits watched as, one by one, the men crumbled beneath her. They all knew what Natasha was capable of going into this, maybe that was part of the reason they'd agreed to it, but their planet-sized male egos still left them upset with Natasha's victories.

"Agent Romanoff, care to describe to our recruits your fighting style?" Coulson prompted once the mat had been cleared of her last victim.

"It's all physics really. Fighting most of the time isn't about brute strength because it's slow and wastes energy. Instead, it's more about leverage. Angles, velocity, gravity, and all that mixed with an innate knowledge of the human body and it's weakness all combine to create a more streamlined, energy-efficient mean of fighting." She explained casually as pulled the tape off her hands.

"How on earth do you do that flying-scissor-head thing?" Asked one of the males of the group who looked very confused by the whole thing.

"It's actually a relatively simple take-down move once you master it. It's taken years of practice though to cultivate and master this more unique fighting style. Am I good for today, Coulson?"

"Yes. Thank you for the demonstration, you're free to go." Coulson was surprised that Natasha had been so easygoing about this whole thing. Normally he fought her tooth and nail over everything, but not recently. Something about her had changed, but he couldn't quite place what it was.

Natasha liked the new recruits. Well, she didn't hate them and she preferred them to a lot of the older agents. In the five years that she'd been here, most of the field agents that had been working here when she had been brought in had died or been reassigned. Few people who really knew about how she ended up at SHIELD remained, as a result, she'd kind of become a legend around here and most recruits were too afraid to talk to her, which suited her just fine. She was admired and idolized and feared and it felt kind of good.

She didn't bother to shower or change, simply pulling a mildly ratty t-shirt on over her sports bra and lacing up a pair of running shoes. She grabbed her keys out of the baby pocket of her running and tossed them in her purse with her wallet and phone before pulling her hair out of it's messy ponytail as she left the building.

She stopped and grabbed some chinese takeout from Clint's local joint on her way to his apartment, only realizing how hungry she was when finally alone in her car. Natasha had only been to Clint's apartment a handful of times, he mostly came over to hers, but she let herself in and made her way up to the sixth floor where Natasha would silently curse the fact that he lived in a nicer place than she did and here people actually, you know, spoke to each other in the hallways.

"Hi, how are you?" Natasha's head snapped up at the too peppy greeting. She found herself face to face with a short but slender woman in scrubs. Her skin was tanned, but it was more like she spent a lot of time outdoors than having a naturally tan complexion and it seemed to clash a little with her dark honey-colored hair and her dark brown, almost black eyes. She had a round face with a sort of squished face, like her features were just _slightly_ too small for the rest of her face, but it wan't really unattractive either. It was her smile that made Natasha look on with apprehension. Or maybe it was the vaguely plasticine vibe she gave off standing there with a barbie sized smile on her face for a complete stranger.

"Uhh, fine. How about you?" Natasha hated this pointless smalltalk that society basically required of people.

"I'm excellent. And, I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you. Are you new here?" Natasha hated weirdly personal questions even more than the smalltalk.

"No, I'm just visiting a friend." She replied without enthusiasm, tying to maneuver out of this conversation.

"Oh, really? Who?" Okay, now this was too close for comfort.

"You know, I'm actually running late so I should really be going." She shifted the brown paper bag from one arm to the other as she walked around this woman, feeling grateful when Clint's door opened and his blonde head poked curiously out the door.

"I thought that was you." He said, opening his door wider and Natasha let the relief show on her face.

"I brought food." She held up the bag and let him usher her inside, not even glancing at the other woman in the hall as he closed the door behind them.

"Okay, is is just me or was that chick kinda creepy?" Natasha asked, setting the bag down on the counter and pulling out the little square containers.

"Beth? Yeah, she's not quite right. But, I don't really socialize with these people too much. They all ask too many questions." He shrugged, picking up a pair of chopsticks and breaking the wooden connector before opening up a container of white rice.

They ate quickly, talking about nothing of importance until they both decided it was time to face the music and begin cracking down on that paperwork. Clint poured two mugs full of hot coffee and they began to work in earnest with Clint sprawled on the couch while Natasha was cross-legged on the floor ben over his coffee table. Nothing but the shuffling of papers and the scratching of pens were heard except for the occasional coffee refill, but after about 4 hours Clint stopped refilling his cup altogether and just drank straight out of the pot. When they were finished it was about four in the morning.

"Victory is ours!" Clint exclaimed, throwing his hands up when he had signed the bottom of the last sheet of paper. By now both their handwriting looked more or less like drunken chicken scratch but neither of them could even be bothered to care as they were finally able to relax.

"You're such a dork." Natasha teased, flicking her pen at him.

"Don't bring me down, Tasha. I feel good about this."

"It's four in the fucking morning, how can you possibly feel good about this?"

"We're done. It's exciting."

"Whatever makes you happy, but I should really get going."

"Or you could stay." He suggested, reaching forward and tugged her up and over his coffee table onto the couch next to him, not caring that Natasha had to step on it in the process.

"I'm exhausted, Clint. I just want to sleep."

"Nat, I don't know if you know this, but I actually have a bed here." She gave him a playful hit in the chest.

"I'm in sweaty gross workout clothes that I'd rather not sleep in." Clint only shrugged at her excuse.

"You can wear something of mine." He countered again and Natasha sighed. "C'mon, I'll even make you breakfast in the morning."

"Only if you make pancakes."

"Deal."

Natasha got up and rummaged through her purse until she pulled out a toothbrush, shrugging when Clint raised an eyebrow at her.

"I like clean teeth." She explained as she went off to go brush her teeth and wash her face. When she came out of the bathroom Clint handed her a plain grey t-shirt. He didn't even bother to look away from her as she lazily undressed until she was in nothing but her panties before pulling the shirt on over her head. Clint had changed too so now he wore only a pair or navy sweatpants; he liked to sleep shirtless.

Natasha settled into bed, curling up on her side with her left arm under her head, staring blankly at the wall while Clint stretch out on his back, shutting the light off a few moments later. The rhythmic sound of their breathing was the only sound in the room until Natasha, in her own restlessness, spoke up.

"Hey, give me your hand." She said, as she turned her head to look back at Clint and held up her right hand, her body still turned away from him. He looked over at her and placed his left hand palm-down in hers.

"Your other hand." She clarified and he switched hands. Clint felt a slight tug on his arm, rolling onto his side as Natasha wrapped his hand over her waist, letting it come to rest flat against her stomach with her hand placed gently over the top of his. In response he reached just a little bit further, slipping his hand underneath her waist, and pulled her flush against his chest.

Natasha, with some measure of will, let herself relax. Let herself be encompassed by her partner, let her head fall back against her shoulder, let his hand slip under her shirt to rest against her skin, let their legs intertwine beneath the blanket together.

It's not like this was her first time sharing a bed with someone. In fact, it was really more like the opposite. But, this was something new for her, for him too.

She'd played the call girl, the prostitute, the blushing schoolgirl, the trophy girlfriend, the fianceé, even the wife. She'd played the obedient recruit too, but never herself, never Natasha. She spent so long burying herself under layers and layers of things that just weren't her to survive that she'd forgotten what having relationships simply for the sake of connecting with another human being for no other reason than desire, felt like. Maybe she never knew before.

But there was Clint. She didn't really quite understand him, she couldn't quite read him as well as she could read other people, and she didn't quite trust him. To clarify, in a mission, in a firefight, she wouldn't choose anybody else, but with her own past, with her own secrets, she'd rather keep that to herself. Though that's more of a reflection of her than of him.

He was different, to put it simply. With any other person, in her experience, male or female, this situation would have some pretty strong implications. But with Clint, Natasha felt no pressure to do anything she didn't want, to be anything she didn't want. There were no demands or even expectations for anything more than what she was giving. She was just herself, exactly as she wanted to be.

It took her five years to accept him and to feel accepted by him. Five years to realize that she wanted him. Wanted him as her partner, as her lifeline, as her friend. Wanted his stupid jokes and his bad driving and his no-holds-barred sparing with her. Wanted his hands against her skin and in her hair. Wanted his lips against hers, his whole body against hers.

There was fear behind her desire.

Fear of trust.

Fear of what it all might mean.

Fear of the unknown.

Natasha felt exhausted in every inch of her body, right down to her bones. And, for the moment, she let her emotions was away, losing herself in the physical sensations around her as they both drifted asleep.

** s/9392980/1/In-the-Land-of-Gods-and-Monsters**

**Here's the link to the first part of this story, if you're interested in reading it. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks everybody for reviews and follows for Revolver! I'm really excited about ****this story and I'm glad you guys are too!**

Natasha groaned in frustration as she was woken up by the sound of her phone ringing loudly on the nightstand in front of her. Detaching herself from Clint's hold on her she reached over to grab the offending device.

"Romanoff." She said with a yawn when she picked up. She glanced at the clock, it was just past nine, meaning they'd only gotten about five hours of sleep last night.

"You've got an op, how soon can you be here?"

"Uh...like an hour." She replied, pushing the covers back and untangling her legs from Clint's, who was just beginning to wake up.

"See you in my office." Coulson hung up and Natasha swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Clint sat up and ran a hand through his already messy hair, causing it to stick up even more.

"I'm going to have to take a rain check on that breakfast. Coulson just called." She told him as she stepped into her pants. Clint was upset that Natasha was being called in without him again, but just as he was about to say something, his phone rang. Coulson wanted him in too.

"Want to just roll in together?" Clint asked as he found a clean shirt and put it on.

"I'm going to run home and take a shower and get clean clothes first. Plus my car's here anyways." Natasha left the room, tying her hair up in a ponytail as she went, and started to get all of her things together in her bag and Clint followed.

"You should really stay over more often." Clint said as he started to make a pot of coffee only to realize that he had run out of coffee last night. Shrugging, he let the empty pot clatter into the sink.

"And what ever will the neighbors say?" Natasha pretended to be scandalized by the idea. Clint chuckled and shook his head at her.

"Like you give a damn about what people say about you, Natasha." He shot back as she started to get all her papers back together.

"Fair point." She admitted, with an soft smile that soon faded as she became more and more focused on the task at hand.

Even in the mornings Natasha was a whirlwind, quickly and neatly getting all of her papers reorganized and back into the box they came in. He watched her work for a minute, thinking about how far they'd come since they met five years ago, before starting to help her separate her stuff from his. When all of it had been sorted and tossed haphazardly into the box she slung her bag over her shoulder and lifted the heavy box with ease.

He got the door for her and, for once, she didn't chastise him for doing it, saying she can get it herself like she usually does. In typical Natasha fashion, she was about to walk away without another word when Clint stopped her.

"Hey, Tash."

"Mhmm." She turned back to face him, almost dropping her box when he leaned in and kissed her. She wasn't used to this, to him. His rough skin and lips, his three-day stubble, the little cleft in his chin, all of it too alien in this context. Even more alien was how she felt about it.

She'd never been big on kissing, even in her line of work, it always felt wrong, too close. But, now she found herself leaning into Clint, deepening their kiss with a tilt of her head, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

But it was wrong too. Wrong to be so close, wrong to want him. Relationships, emotions, they got in the way, they were dangerous. They left you open and vulnerable to those who wanted to hurt you, they provided a clear and easy pressure point. They were a risk, a liability, and she knew it. She pulled away from him.

"I'll see you later."

"Uhh..yeah." He replied with a small nod, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other as he looked at her. He could see how conflicted she was about this, about him.

"Nat..." He continued after a few seconds of tense silence.

"Yeah."

"I'm glad you stayed."

"Me too." She gave him a small smile before turning to leave, Clint watching her go from his doorway.

As she stepped into the elevator, giving him once last glance over her shoulder as she did, Clint retreated back inside his apartment to get ready to the day.

Him and Natasha, who would've thought? Clint reflected on that as he went about his morning routine, thinking that basically the entire freaking planet thought that. Well, except for the two of them. Literally, they were the last ones to see that coming; his own wife, well, now ex-wife, had seen it before him.

And it was weird. Like, really weird. But, in a good way? Definitely yes.

She was incredible.

Mind-blowing, jaw-dropping, Earth-shattering types of incredible.

Just looking at the way she fights you could see it, that's why they always used her for training demonstrations. It was so jarringly different, so unique, so unpredictable that it made your head spin. Natasha was steadfastly determined when she fought, unwilling to compromise, to give any ground. She was relentless, of a mind that the best time to kick a man was when he was down. She was ruthless, she took no prisoners. Even after five years he still had trouble pinning her down, though he'd gotten much better. She would wipe the floor with his dignity and self-respect with a smile on her face, and he loved that about her. She didn't hold back anything, she always gave everything she had, never backed down from any threat, any challenge.

But, there was so much more to her than that, though most people failed to see it. She was brilliant, a veritable genius. She was fluent in about 26 languages, and conversational in another dozen, she had a wickedly talented tongue. In addition to that she knew an awful lot of practical physics that, combined with her innate knowledge of the human body, gave her a deadly edge over most opponents. She was well-versed in classic and contemporary literature, as well as being reasonable scientifically literate, especially in biology and chemistry. But her intelligence went beyond practical textbook knowledge. She was more than smart, she was clever. She thought and spoke a million miles a minute, most people, often including himself, couldn't keep up with her. She could talk her way in and out of almost any situation, anticipating every possible reaction to the situation in front her with lighting speed. She read people like they were books, picking up on even the smallest twitches of facial muscles to see what they really felt underneath their while keeping them all from seeing what was under hers. _All of them except for me_, Clint thought.

As the years went by, that mask Natasha held onto so fiercely had begun to fade away, at least with him, leaving...what exactly? Clint wasn't even sure that she knew who she was without all that pomp and circumstance, but he started to get the feeling that he did. She was much more easy-going, much softer with her words and with her actions. She seemed much more relaxed, happier, she smiled more, laughed more. But, Natasha was woman of extremes, of volcanic hots and arctic colds. With her happiness came sadness too, like she couldn't have one without the other. Her nightmares were worse, more frequent and more vivid, she drank more, smoked more, and had a greater tendency to space out when she was with him.

She felt the weight of her past more and more these days.

Even with all that, even faced with the horrors of all she'd done, and all that'd been done to her, she was still moving. Moving forward, moving on. And Natasha wasn't inherently a good person. She lived in the shadows, in the moral grey areas of the world doing the dirty work the we all knew was necessary to keep the world turning. But she chose a better life, fought for a better life doing something more productive and more meaningful that what she'd done before.

Natasha was still struggling with figuring out who she really was and all that pain was a part of it, but Clint would never stop trying to ease that pain. He would never stop trying to make her laugh, make her smile, make her happy. And he had absolutely no idea where this relationship was heading, but he was along for the ride.

Natasha didn't want to even think about Clint as she rode the elevator down to his lobby, making a mental list of all that she needed to get done before reporting to SHIELD.

"Need some help there?" Her thoughts were interrupted by the same irritating woman from the night before, Beth, Clint called her.

"No." She replied curtly. "I'm fine."

"You sure? That looks awfully heavy." The woman approached her and Natasha tensed.

"Yeah, I'm sure I'm fine." She set the box down on the ground and dug through her bag for her keys. When she found them she unlocked her car and hefted the box onto the floor in the backseat of her car.

"Alright, well, have a nice day!" The woman quipped cheerily, a bit too cheerily if you ask Natasha, and walked away. Maybe it was her, Natasha thought, maybe she was the problem, but that woman seriously creeped her out. She couldn't quite place what is was about her that made her so repulsive to Natasha, but she just seemed so wrong.

She shrugged it off as she got into the driver's seat, going back to making her list.

"You are both aware of the super soldier program the United States had running during the forties, correct?" Coulson asked. Natasha ignored the side-eye Clint shot her and nodded, after a moment, he did too.

"Well, it seems we have a new up and comer trying to recreate the process. A chinese businessman by the name of Yalin Mao has been funding a small team of scientists for over the past year. Their lab is in Calcutta and their science team is lead by a man names Sahir Rai who is widely considered to be one of the leading pioneers in the fields of genetics and synthetic biology. He was educated here in the US. We want you to kill Mao and destroy the lab, however, Fury wants Rai alive and all his research. You'll have to back up the hard drive before taking out the lab. Here are your files." He tossed two thick manila folders onto the desk, one in front of each of them.

"Any questions?" No response. "Good, now do what you two do best. Wheels up at 0800 tomorrow."

Shortly after Coulson had left, Natasha did too, leaving Clint alone, absorbed in the file. Natasha went home to pack and to read the file a few more times, her mind already running though a thousand different ways they could approach the situation. She was surprised when Clint appeared at her door.

"Nice shirt." He commented as she let him inside. She'd changed again when she'd gotten home, now she was wearing a pair of black cotton shorts and the shirt Clint had let her borrow last night.

"It's really comfy." She shrugged. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I figured we should do some actual work tonight."

"Since when do you want to do actual work before we leave?" Natasha asked in disbelief, taking a seat on her couch. Clint followed her lead and sat down at the other end.

"Since I was bored and the urge to be productive hit me." He picked up the file on her coffee table and began to spread out the papers, trying to look at as much as he could at once.

Around ten Natasha had gotten tired of work and began shuffling the papers back into their folder.

"Natasha!" Clint protested, trying to stop her from tearing apart his organized piles of information.

"It's getting late, we have to be somewhere in the morning, and we got almost no sleep last night. This," She held up the papers in her hands. "can wait. Let's go to bed."

Clint sighed in resignation, taking the hand that she offered him to pull him to his feet. She pulled on him a little harder than he was expecting and stumbled forward, his hands grabbing onto her hips to steady himself and prevent them both from toppling over.

"Does that mean you'll let me stay?" He asked, lowering his voice.

"Only if you want to." Natasha looked down at the ground, bringing her hands up to rest on top of his to detach them, then, changing her mind last minute, she simply let them rest there.

"Always." He told her, pulling her closer to him. "If I'm staying, can I at least have my shirt back then?" He asked, playing with the hem.

"Nope." She replied, smiling up at him. "I like it." She grabbed his hand and turned away from him, leading him to her room.

"I guess I'm just going to have to steal it from you."

"I'd like to see you try." She shot back, surprised when Clint grabbed her waist, spun her around and kissed her.

"I think I just might." His voice, low and needy, made Natasha shiver. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with equal enthusiasm. Their kiss quickly grew more heated as Natasha parted her lips, letting Clint's tongue explore her mouth freely, for once, not putting up a fight. She soon found herself backed up against her door, Clint's body pressed up against hers, his hands on her hips, her back, her shoulders, her hair, like he couldn't get enough of her.

Natasha fumbled with the door knob for a moment, but after a second, the pressure behind her gave way and she was stumbling backwards into the darkness of her room, clinging tightly to Clint the whole time. They both fell backwards onto her bed with a slight _oof_ and they both laughed as bed sagged slightly under the weight of both of them. Natasha reached up and brought Clint's mouth back against her's, arching he body up against his, he smiled against her lips. His hands slipped under her shirt, lightly gliding along the soft flesh of her stomach, and Natasha suddenly panicked.

Clint was roughly shoved away and Natasha scrambled away from him to the other side of the bed.

"Fuck!" She cursed, running her hands through her hair.

"Are you okay, Nat? " Clint asked hesitantly.

"I'm sorry, I just...I can't do this with you." She stammered out, her breathing labored and uneven.

"Natasha?" He called, taking a small step towards her, but she held out her hands for him to stop.

"I think you should just go, Clint." She refused to look up at him, keeping her gaze fixed to the very center of the bed.

"Natasha, if I did anything..." Clint started to apologize, making Natasha even more tense.

"You didn't do anything, I just really need you to leave right now." He hesitated for a moment, not sure what was happening or what he should do about it.

"Okay, Tasha." He very reluctantly began to back out of the room, wanting nothing more than to stay and help fix whatever had just broken, but knowing that Natasha needed some space. She looked as confused and upset as he felt, but he didn't know why. Regardless, he left, closing her door softly behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm going out of town on Monday, so this might be last update before I leave. I'm going to try and squeeze in another quick chapter before I go, but we'll see. **

**Anyways, thanks for all the favs/follows. I'm glad you all like this story so far!**

**Keep up the reviews! They are always welcomed and appreciated!**

Natasha dropped her stuff off at the plane in the hangar before heading off towards the armory to pack up her weapons and suit in their standard military-grade containers for transport. And although she already had her spare suit packed with the rest of her luggage, and plenty of weapons in her apartment, she preferred to keep her official gear locked up in SHIELD storage.

When she rounded the corner to her storage locker she saw none other than Clint Barton. He was sitting on one of the benches that sat in between the rows of lockers with his elbows on his knees, hunched over with his head in his hands. She walked silently into the room and simply went about her business. He jumped when he looked up and she had suddenly appeared in front of him, but he felt like he shouldn't really be surprised by it anymore.

"Hey, I wanted to talk." Clint said, standing up and stretching out his legs and arms.

"I gathered that much." Natasha responded flatly as she took out a heavy, black case and set it down on the bench. She pressed her thumb into the small, silver disk on the front, barely registering the sharp prick in her finger from the mechanism. A moment later the locks snapped open and she opened the lid.

She loved the SHIELD personal weapons containers. Absolutely loved them. They were heavy-duty cases that were practically indestructible, even by her standards, with individually tailored inserted linings molded to the exact specs of her weapons. Each container had a locking mechanism that was physically impossible to pick with a rather unique biometric lock that read blood instead of fingerprints which made them a lot harder to trick, especially in Natasha's case. And when the wrong blood was used to try and open the case, and alert was immediately sent to the registered owner as well as SHIELD HQ. Not even Clint could get into her weapons when she had them in storage, and that meant nobody could mess up her system.

"Look, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I didn't mean to push you..."

"I think we should just go back to being partners." Natasha interrupted him.

"What?"

"This...whatever this even is...I want it to stop. You and me, we're partners, nothing more." She had been working as they talked, placing each weapon carefully in its place, and now she slammed the lid down harder than she'd intended, revealing just how tense she was.

A long silence settled in the air between them as they stared each other down.

Natasha twitched in nervousness as she waited for Clint to say something.

"You know how I learned to do all those impossible shots I take?" He asked, leaning against the locker next to Natasha's.

"What?" She had no idea where he was going with this.

"You know, the ones that you never think I'll be able to make because it's at an extreme angle, or it's a long distance, or a heavy wind, or really precise target that's moving and highly explosive, and you always say I'm not going to make it, but then I always do. The impossible shots where you shake your head in disbelief and say 'nice shot Wonderboy'."

"Clint, what does this have to do with..."

"I learned how to make those shots because I learned that you're going to miss every shot you don't take. Every shot you can't be bothered to take. Archery was the only thing I ever truly cared about, I spent hours upon hours trying the most ridiculous shots I could think of as a kid. Because if it's worth caring about, it's worth the shot. Now matter how impossible it might seem, you take the damn shot, Natasha."

"And if you miss?"

"Then you miss." He shrugged noncommittally

"Why take it at all then?"

"You are such a fucking tourist." He muttered, rolling his eyes.

"What?" She snapped, slamming her locker door shut a lot harder that was, strictly speaking, necessary.

"You have never cared about anything or anyone that didn't keep you alive or further your own agenda. You never let yourself care. And, that's not living Natasha, that's, I don't know, watching other people live."

Natasha chewed on his words for a moment, trying to process it all and turn it into something that made sense to her.

"What if I'm just not ready to take the shot?" She asked, her voice shaking slightly despite her best attempts to keep herself steady.

Clint's brow furrowed as he thought, he then pushed away from the locker he was leaning on and walked over to his own, just a few down. He pulled out his own storage case, and out of that he took his bow, snapping it out of its collapsed form to full length. He walked back over to her and shoved it into her hands.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Though she was thinking more about how she didn't think she'd ever actually held his bow. The weapon seemed too close to him, to much a part of him for her to even ask about it.

"Draw the bowstring back." He instructed. She shifted the bow in her hand until her fingers fell into the grip much too large for her own hand. She raised her right arms straight, parallel to the floor, her left fingers gently plucking the taunt wire. Clint walked around her, staring her down critically and she suddenly felt very subconscious about having his weapon in her hands, even more so when he corrected her stance with gently, guiding touches to her shoulders and back.

"Okay, try now." He told her. Her fingers curled around the string, feeling the wire trying to imbed itself in her skin as she pulled back. She pulled with all her strength, and yet, she couldn't manage to get it even halfway drawn.

"Not as easy as it looks, is it?" Clint took the bow back from her and easily drew the bowstring back all the way. "And we could talk about the biggest bow cliche ever, about how you have to draw back before you can go forward. But, there's a better story I like. See, you can't draw this bow, Natasha. No matter how hard you try, no matter how long we stand here, right now, you cannot draw this bow. When I started, neither could I. Behind every shot you take there's years of training, of work, it's not just one second, one moment. The result, whether you hit or miss, is what you make it, how hard you worked, how much you wanted it. You might not be ready to take the shot today, may not have the strength today or tomorrow or even a year from now, but one day you will. One day you'll draw back and let loose and know that the outcome is what _you _make it Natasha, not anybody else but you."

"But what about you? And can we drop the fucking metaphor already?"

"This isn't about me, Natasha."

"If you're the metaphorical target, then it's about you too."

"Target's not moving. I'm not going anywhere. This is about you and what you want and when you want it. I was married, remember? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Whatever you want, whenever you want it, I can wait. I'm a sniper, it's basically in my job description to wait, it's what I'm good at. I'm not ever going to make you do anything you don't want to do, what you're not ready to do. I'm just asking that you don't give up on this, that you don't shut me out."

"Clint, we can't and you know it." She grabbed her case off the bench and started to leave, but he quickly got in front of her, blocking her path.

"If you say one word about SHIELD protocol, I swear to god, I will stab myself in the face."

"Don't be such a fucking drama queen."

"Don't be such a fucking hypocrite." He shot back and her eyes narrowed. "You've never given a rat's ass about any SHIELD rule, ever. You're only hiding behind them now because it's convenient and that's bullshit. If you don't want me in your life, just fucking tell me and I'll walk away, but quite making excuses about this because you're scared, Natasha."

"I don't not want you." Natasha said after some time with a considerable amount of effort, her entire body completely rigid. She made it sound like she would rather be eating glass than talking to him and Clint supposed that, with Natasha, that was probably the case. Clint chuckled, shaking his head at her.

"Well, good. I'm glad we got that sorted out." She relaxed, as she often did, at his light-heartedness.

"C'mon Wonderboy." She nudged her case against his knee. "We're late."

* * *

"I like it better when it's more spying, less killing. Better accommodations." Clint's disdain was almost comical as they both carried in their stuff from the SUV.

"We've stayed in worse." Natasha pointed out. "At least it isn't some skeevy motel.

"Fair." He conceded. They were staying in a pretty run down apartment that was about two blocks from the red light districts. It was dank and dirty and the bed had a vaguely moldy smell, there was little running water and it was, above all other things, hot. Hot and humid. It was sticky and smothering and Natasha absolutely hated it, but Clint seemed unfazed by it. They were staying in this particular apartment for a reason though.

Across the street lived a scientist that had just been recruited to work under Sahir Rai, he started work at the lab last week. He was an American scientist by the name of Tyler Fredrickson who was a low-clearance techie, but even low clearance access would get them on site. The rest Clint could manage on his own.

Clint was going to infiltrate the lab in order to back up the hard drive to a specially encrypted flashdrive that they'd been given by SHIELD before they left while Natasha's role was a little more complex, having to both kidnap Rai and kill Mao without spooking either one.

His plan was simple: kill the techie across the way and take his access card to get inside. Once in he would manually bypass the security system, which was outdated at best, into the server room. Once the information had been secured he'd have to make his way out quickly, tripping the fire alarm as he did. If he was going to blow up a building, he wanted to make sure as few people were inside it as possible. Since the building was already rigged to blow, Mao, being the overly paranoid son of a bitch that he was, made the last leg of their mission easy. Having already patched himself into their systems, he could remotely detonate the explosives in the building once it had been evacuated.

Natasha's plan had a few more moving parts that required her to be several different people all at once. But, she'd juggled more for less in the past. The night they got in Natasha went out, ensuring that Rai's PA would suddenly get very, very ill and would need to go to the hospital. She'd live, but it wasn't what Natasha would call an ideal night out for the poor girl. The night she and Clint had worked over at her apartment she'd hacked the temp agency that Rai used for his PA's, changing them out every few weeks so no one person knew too much, and arranged for a certain new, young American to replace her. That would give her access and opportunity to Rai, Mao was another story. But one she was more than capable of handling.

When night had settled, or as close to night as a busy city came, Clint found his perch and his bow, sliding his quiver into place on his back. He drew a single arrow, razor sharp, but ordinary and notched it, waiting. It seemed like an eternity to Natasha, who watched him as he waited, his eyes sharp and focused, flitting back and forth, taking in every detail, every movement from across the way, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration, a concentration that never faltered or broke. He never moved either, never made a sound, just waited. Natasha had gotten bored hours ago, and was dozing off when she heard a slight rusting of fabric from his perch, the slight thrum of the arrow being loosed seemed to echo in their silent room before the shattering of glass snapped Natasha completely out of her daze.

Clint rose from where he had been crouched down for the past few hours. Sliding his bow over his head to let his hands be free he climbed out the window with a surprising grace and made his way down to the street below. Natasha waited intently until his blond head popped back through the window about 15 minutes later, flashing her the ID card in his hand as he pulled himself through, the frame nearly too narrow for his broad shoulders.

"You good?" She asked, unmoving from her seat on the bed.

"Yeah." There was a vacantness in his voice, a deadness that always came when he killed somebody. It was like he went numb, or into some sort of shell to deal with killing people and Natasha never really knew what to do, so she always just did nothing. Acted as if it were okay, normal, and in reality, this was normal for them.

"You're up tomorrow." He packed up his weapons and pulled his shirt off, relishing the slight breeze that came in through the window against his bare skin. He flopped down on the bed beside Natasha. Lying on his back he stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think about much of anything until he felt Natasha stir uneasily beside him. Clint rolled onto his side to face her, propping his head up on his hand.

"Bed?" She asked, uncrossing her legs. Clint nodded, grateful, for once, that Natasha was not a particularly chatty person as she curled up beside him.

* * *

Nicole Richards made quite the impression on her first day, her new boss seemed very fond of his bright and bubbly new assistant. She was personable, talkative, and took direction very well, he much preferred her to his old girl, not to mention that she was easy on the eyes and seemed very eager to please.

On her second day, Nicole set all the wheels turning, her plan in motion.

"You have a four o'clock meeting with that new group of investors this afternoon, Dr. Rai." She reminded him with a smile.

"Yes, thank you Nicole. I have a car picking me up at 3:30, and I'd like you to accompany me." She nodded appreciatively, then left his office.

She sat through the meeting, pretending to take copious amounts of notes as they went on and on and on about investment options and returns and their 'product'. Natasha was bored the second she walked into that room, but she needed this meeting to make her plan work.

When all was said and done, the two of them climbed back into their car to go back to the lab.

Except, they never made it back.

* * *

"Hawkeye, you in?" Natasha breathed into her comm as she paced their dingy lodgings with an unconscious doctor handcuffed and tied up in the bathtub.

"I'm in, Widow. You sure this is going to work?"

"Mao isn't in Calcutta now, we need a way to draw him out. Blowing up his lab might just get his attention. Just back the hard drive and get out."

"Copy. See you soon, Widow."

Natasha paced, the radio silence almost deafening in her ear.

"Fuck." Clint swore angrily only minutes later.

"What's up?"

"I think we may have underestimated their security system." Clint told her, his distress apparent in his voice.

"What makes you say that?"

"Let's just say the computer doesn't like it when you try to force your way into the system." She heard some rustling over the line, and she was trying to keep her rising uneasiness in check.

"Clint, tell me what's going on." She all but ordered him.

"The mission's blown, Nat. And, I think, so am I."

Natasha's unease exploded into a full blown panic as his words sunk in.

"Get out of there, Clint."

"Yeah, Nat, I'm working on it." He snapped back, yanking on the fire alarm. Both their ears filled with the loud, blaring alarms sounding throughout the building. They said no more to each other as Clint rushed through the halls, silently cursing whoever designed this place and thought it was a good idea to put the computer room in the basement, furthest from any exits.

Natasha was frozen in place back at the apartment, hating herself for not being there, for being useless and helpless. She tried to focus on his breathing instead, tried holding onto the fact that, for right now, he was still alive. He was going to be okay, this was Clint, he was always okay.

She almost convinced herself that it was true.

Then she winced as a shrill, piercing sound assaulted her eardrum.

"Clint?" She called and she froze, her heart sinking.

"CLINT!" She shouted into her comm.

There was no response. Nothing. Only static.


	4. Chapter 4

**I planned on ending this a little later, but I cut it off early so I could post it before I left. I'll be sans internet until the 23rd, so check back for another update around the 25th, most likely.**

**Anyways, it would be super awesome if you guys left me some new reviews to read for when I got back!**

"Ma'am, I need you to back up behind the barricade." A uniformed man instructed her in bengali. Natasha flashed her SHIELD badge and he reluctantly walked away.

Concrete rubble crunched beneath her feet as she stepped through to find someone in charge of something. She had always loved explosions before, when she lived and thrived off confusion and chaos, when they were simply distractions or diversions or statements. She never saw them for what they were until this moment.

They were devastating.

It was all smoke and ash, firefighters still working to quench the last of the flames amongst the concrete rubble. Everywhere there was shouting. Men and women for help, for their mothers, for their gods, sounds of anguish and agony, of pain beyond words and beyond help. First responders barking orders and coordinating movements as a hurricane of people worked to salvage who and what was left of the building. Sirens wailed from all directions as emergency vehicles piled up and more and more people were added to the already swirling storm. The smell of singed metal and flesh was revolting, especially when mixed the stench of death that hung in the air like a thick fog, unescapable.

"Agent Romanoff!" And unfamiliar voice called. She turned to see a pair of SHIELD agents approaching her, both flashing their badges at the local authorities like she did.

"I'm Agent Pritish and this is Agent Sullivan, from the local office. We understand that you were on an op when this occurred." The woman was a few inches taller than her and dressed in what seemed to be a standard issue SHIELD suit. She was all business.

"My parter was inside the building when it went, I think. I'm not sure. Our comms cut out. I have to find him." Natasha could feel her heart racing and she couldn't slow it down. In this mess, he could be anywhere, or nowhere.

"We've got all the local hospitals on alert for Agent Barton, they'll notify us if he comes into any of them." The woman tried to sound reassuring, but Natasha wasn't buying it.

"We are going to find him now, not wait for some damn report to come in. I'll check triage stations one and two. You two take three through five." Neither of them showed any indication of moving. "Find my parter, find him now, or I swear I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell. And trust me when I say that my power is _very _extensive." She lowered her voice to a threatening growl, and both agents took a step back from her.

"Yes ma'am." Sullivan managed to get out. Turning to leave, he tugged what Natasha presumed to be his partner along with him off to the triage stations.

Natasha walked off as well, diving deep into a mass of the dead and dying in the worst of the worst triage stations. The movement around her was a blur as people were being constantly moved around, from bed to bed, loaded onto stretchers being carted to and fro, people being rushed into ambulances. She saw people with missing limbs, people impaled by metal spikes, people with faces burned so badly you could hardly tell they were human, and all of them wailing and whimpering and sobbing. Natasha felt sick.

She stopped her walking for a moment to catch her breath and to take a long look at the ambulances being loaded and her heart nearly stopped when she spotted a shock a bright blond hair attached to a stretcher. Natasha broke out into a run, a dead sprint, to reach the ambulance before they carted him off. She climbed into the front of the ambulance and briefly argued with the driver in bengali. When she flashed her badge, he let her stay.

Natasha was so wound up she wanted to rip her fucking skin off. Clint was four feet from her and dying and she could see him, then at the hospital the wheeled him away without telling her a damn thing, simply shuffling her off into a private waiting room with, she guessed, her SHIELD status afforded her. After about and hour of her anxious pacing, the two local-office agents showed up. With her car too, no less. For that, at least, she was grateful since she at lease kept a book in the glove compartment to pass the time as she waited. They didn't speak.

It was five hours until a doctor came to talk to her. It seemed the worst of his injuries was his shattered left forearm. Besides that, both of his lungs had collapsed in the explosion, and one had detaches itself completely, and nearly every rib has been broken or cracked. He had several deep lacerations on his left side that had to be stitched, but cause a significant amount of blood loss, he had several brain contusions, and some internal bleeding to boot.

"You might want to contact his family." The doctor advised, and Natasha knew what that meant. They thought he was going to die.

"He doesn't..." Natasha tried to talk, but she couldn't quite catch her breath, like the air was being squeezed out of her and she couldn't breath back in. She ran her hands through her hair to try and calm down, but it didn't seem to help any. "He's got...there's...no one." She managed to finish. _Only me_, she thought.

They told her that he was still in critical condition, that she couldn't see him. That she had to stay stuck in this tiny room where she couldn't breathe and couldn't move, she'd never felt more useless in her entire life.

She sent the local agents away, told them she didn't want them there, so they went to go pick up Dr. Rai from where he was still tied up in the apartment to get him boxed up and ready to ship back to the states.

She was alone again and alone was good, alone she could deal with. There was no pressure to please or perform or conform when she was alone. She had been alone her whole life until she met Clint and now, it seemed, she would have to go back. The thought didn't help to calm her down any.

She'd exhausted herself pacing hours ago, couldn't focus enough to read, didn't want to think about much of anything, so she sat in completely, deathly stillness, mentally checking out. Natasha learned how to just sort of turn off her brain when she wanted, it was her way of coping with her training back in the Red Room, finding a way not to think or to feel, just simply to exist, even if only for a short while, with nothing. It was a slice of serenity. No past, no future.

She didn't know how much time had passed when another visitor entered the room. The vaguely registered the door opening and closing, vaguely heard two voices talking quietly together, they were familiar to her, but she didn't bother to focus enough to place them until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her immediate reaction was to attack, and she did. She stood up abruptly, twisting the arms sharply and pushed him away before drawing her gun, only lowering it when she realized the had her weapon leveled at Director Fury.

"Shit, fuck, I'm sorry." She quickly apologized, tucking the gun back into the waist of her pants. "Old habits."

"Agent Romanoff, always a pleasure." He responded dryly, unfazed by the attack.

"Don't take this the wrong way, sir, but what are you doing here?" Natasha asked, sitting back down.

"You know, contrary to popular belief, I do actually care about the well-being of my agents." Fury sat down in the chair opposite her, Coulson sat next to him.

"All your agents, or just the good ones?" Fury narrowed his eyes at her and she smirked. "You don't have to answer that." Natasha always did get a special kind of joy out of getting her boss worked up, Clint did too. Though, they both suspected that he enjoyed the break in monotony they gave him.

"How is he?" Coulson cut through their conversation to bring it back to something a little more relevant.

"Not good. It's still a toss up." She regaled the information the doctor had reported to her, trying to read Fury's reaction, and ultimately failing to do so. They sat in silence until, and hour later, a different doctor came in to talk to them. They were taking Clint for another surgery to repair his detached lung, after that, they'd have a better idea on his condition. Natasha tried to feel at least a little relieved knowing that they'd soon have an answer the the question she didn't want to ask soon.

They all sat in silence, but now Natasha felt uneasy. She'd never been in a room this long with either of them, and she knew they had a thousand questions they were waiting to spring on her. When she couldn't take it anymore she got up, muttering that she needed some fresh air and made a quick exit. It felt good to escape, even for a little while, and the air felt good, even if it was hot.

She found the car and climbed into the driver's seat and, after rolling down the windows, lit a cigarette, trying to go back into her blanked out state pre-interruption. She was almost there when she heard the passenger door open and Coulson slid into the seat beside her.

"I didn't know you smoked." He commented, it was evident that he was uncomfortable.

"I'm willing to be there's a lot you don't know about me." She shot him a small smile and he seemed to relax. He rarely spoke to Natasha outside of an official capacity, she seemed to prefer it that way. It was no secret that he was much closer to Clint than to her.

"You'd win that bet." He admitted, then said no more. And uncomfortable silence settled between them, unasked questions hanging in the air.

"So why're you here?" Natasha asked eventually, growing tired of waiting.

"I have a question for you."

"Fire away." She finished the cigarette she was on and lit another.

"What are you going to do if Clint dies?" No beating around the bush, she liked that about Coulson, though maybe not in this particular moment. Natasha froze, the newly lit cigarette smoldering between her fingers only inches from her mouth.

"Would you stay?" Coulson prompted, knowing she would need it.

"Probably not." She replied, her features and voice blank of any emotion. "Would you still hunt me down if I left?"

"Probably not." Coulson smiled at her, thinking about how different she was from when they'd first met. "I think you've earned a retirement, should you choose one."

"I think we both know me leaving SHIELD wouldn't exactly be a retirement."

"Yeah well, nobody else has to, now do they?" It was Natasha's turn to smile. She'd grown very fond of Coulson during his time as their handler, he seemed to enjoy breaking the rules as much as they did. He always had their backs, was always in their side, she like him.

Silence fell again, though this one considerably less tense.

"You know I ask all my agents that question when the time comes?" Coulson asked.

"When what time comes?"

"When the life of the person they trust most hangs in the balance. When they have to face how they really feel and what they really want. Death, even the threat of death, has a way of making our priorities very clear to us." Coulson explained, his voice drifting off near the end.

"Did you ask Clint?" She wanted to know how he'd answered.

"Of course, you've been in a bad spot more than once. I've asked him twice, and gotten a different answer both times." Coulson smiled at the thought. Clint was always a tricky one too, no wonder he and Natasha were perfect for each other.

"The first time was when you got back from that reverse interrogation that went horribly sideways and worked out really well all at the same time. Still not sure how you did that, but hey, that's your business. When you were still in your coma I asked."

"And?" Natasha pressed him when he didn't continue.

"He said he'd regret that he couldn't and didn't do more for you. When I asked what he'd do at SHIELD, he'd said he'd carry on as normal, that solo missions did always suit him better." Natasha dropped her gaze to her lap, feeling, for the first time in forever, ashamed.

"I asked him again after we got you back from Russia." Natasha visibly tensed, but Coulson continued. "He said he didn't know if he'd stay. He didn't know if he could just continue on without you, if he could go back to doing solo missions after working with you. And I know Clint, I've known him for a long time, so I know it's the truth when he said that losing you would probably result in some sort of relapse. At least he's self-aware." Coulson chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but it didn't help.

Natasha felt like she'd been punched in the gut.

"Would you go back to Russia?" Coulson asked, the question seemed to be born more out personal curiosity than professional.

"Given the right circumstances, maybe." She shrugged.

"Even after everything they did to you?"

"Because of everything they did to me." Coulson was very confused.

"Why?"

"I was born there, raised there. And, as much as I hate to say, there will always be a place for me there. It's were I'm supposed to belong, not here. It was them that trained me, taught me how to fight, to survive. So, it wasn't all bad. I think they know that I if ever voluntarily went back to them, I'd have to be working on my own terms. And, I think they'd accept that."

"You'd go back and work for the people who want you dead?" Coulson could believe a lot of things about Natasha, and that was not one of them.

"On the contrary, they want me very much alive. They were never going to let me die back in Russia. I'm much to valuable alive. But, like I said, the circumstances would have to be right."

"What would the 'right' circumstances be then?" Natasha didn't answer, only smiled, and Coulson knew she wasn't going to say anymore.

"What are you going to do if Clint dies, Coulson?" Her handler opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

"You know, I've never been asked that question." He scratched his head. "I don't know."

"Well, you might want to find out." On that note, Natasha left, going back inside to wait in that tiny room some more.


	5. Chapter 5

**It's good to be back! Hope the wait was worth it for you guys!**

Natasha had always hated waiting, at least, idle waiting where you couldn't really do anything but fuck around and twiddle your thumbs while somebody else did the work. God, it was frustrating. And Coulson and Fury being here with her didn't help either. The two of them took turns staying with Natasha at the hospital so the other could sleep, often suggesting that Natasha do the same. She declined every time and, after a while, they just stopped trying to get her to leave. Clint had been in the hospital for almost three days by now, and she still hadn't been allowed to see him, and they still were unsure if he would make it.

She was angry, angrier than she'd been in a long time. She felt like strangling the doctor every single time he opened his mouth and said there was nothing more they could do for him. She almost shot him when he said that Clint was in God's hands now. If Fury hadn't been there, she might have.

Coulson had taken over for the director a few hours ago, and had gone off in search of lunch for the two of them when another unexpected visitor showed up.

"Natasha!" A woman called. Natasha turned to find herself in a crushing hug with a face full of thin, blonde hair.

"Bobbi?" Natasha pulled, away from the embrace. "What are you doing here?"

"Fury called me in to take in Mao when his plane landed." She explained a little uneasily. Natasha went from mildly curious to pissed in the blink of an eye, and Bobbi saw it. She took a step back from the angry Russian, putting her hands up defensively. Natasha pulled her phone out of her shirt and quickly dialed a number, her fingers punching the buttons aggressively. The phone rang out, no answer. She turned and threw the phone at the nearest wall, the force causing the small device to shatter completely, sending shard of plastic flying everywhere. Bobbi put a few more feet between them, careful not to show any emotion for fear of getting Natasha more worked up than she already was.

Just as Natasha's breathing was beginning to slow, Director Fury walked in.

"Something the matter Romanoff?" He drawled, eyeing the dent in the wall and the debris around it.

"You are a real son of a bitch Fury, you know that?" She snapped, her trigger finger twitched reflexively by her side.

"So I've been told." He walked over to her, plastic crunching beneath his boots. "Please tell me that was your personal phone."

Natasha scoffed.

"Like I would throw my personal phone at a wall."

"That's coming out of you paycheck." He shot her a pointed look, Natasha thought he looked almost amused but, with one eye, it was always hard to read him.

"Maybe if you picked up your goddamn phone when I called we wouldn't be in this situation."

"Why would I take your call when I was right out side the fucking door?" Bobbi watched this entire interaction and was greatly amused. The director of SHIELD and his top field agent bickered like divorced parents.

"Well, how was I supposed to know you were outside?" Natasha shot back and Fury rubbed his temples in frustration.

"Just tell me why you smashed the fucking phone, or do I not want to know?"

"Because you gave _my _mission to another agent. And you didn't even tell me about it." Fury sighed, he should've known she'd be pissed.

"Is this because I took you off the mission, or that I gave it to Morse?"

"I think if it were anybody but Bobbi, I'd be even angrier. I actually like Bobbi and I still want to strangle you." Fury cocked his head at her. "Yeah, we're good now." Her tone suggested that it was obvious. "Read your fucking memos sometime, Boss."

"You put that in a memo?" He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

"No." Her condescending tone put Fury on edge, as always. She always did enjoy making him feel stupid. "Why would I ever put that in a memo? Don't answer that. Just tell me why I wasn't allowed to finish _my _mission."

Fury sighed and sat down, motioning her to the seat across from him when she gave no indication of moving. Bobbi waited, feeling a little awkward, behind Natasha.

"Honestly, Romanoff, because I don't trust your judgement right now. You just whipped a phone at the wall for no real reason, you've threatened multiple doctors and nurses with bodily harm, and you spend half your waking hours chain smoking in the parking lot. You are the last person I want doing a job right now."

"Okay, fair points on all accounts. I might even be okay with that if you had just had the bastard killed. No, you changed the mission. Clint's dying, Fury, and the man responsible is still alive. Why?"

"If Clint lives, Mao will answer to me personally."

"And if he dies?"

"He'll answer to you." Fury let his words sink in. Natasha's fire, once aflame with rage cooled and settled into her usual composed mask and she nodded once, marking the end of their conversation. Fury turned and left, motioning for Bobbi to follow him, and Natasha was alone again.

Some time later the door opened again, Natasha expected it to be Coulson returning, but it was Clint's doctor. She held her breath in anticipation as he went on in excruciating detail the surgeries they performed on Clint.

"He's stable now, we think he's going to make it." Those were the only words that mattered. Natasha breathed out a sigh of relief, feeling like a giant weight had been lifted off her. Clint was going to live.

"You can see him now if you want." She followed the doctor through a series of winding hallways until he stopped at the door of a room and gestured inside.

"Let us know if his condition changes any." He was going to say something else, but Natasha ignored him and just pushed past him through the door, letting it swing loudly shut behind her.

Looking at him for the first time in days, Natasha could hardly believe that the man on this hospital bed was her partner. He was half bandages and bruised with wires attached everywhere and tubes running into his arms and jammed down his throat, nothing like she'd ever seen. She dragged a chair over to be closer to his bed and sat down, wondering how Clint felt when he'd seen her like this.

Natasha was just confused. She had no idea what she was supposed to do, or say, or anything. It's not like she'd ever been in this situation before; never in her entire life had Natasha visited somebody at a hospital, she was usually the one who put them there. She sat in her chair her hands feeling heavy in her lap and she looked him over, taking in the sight of the broken man who'd always been the stronger one. Clint was clumsy and impulsive and there was never less than three cuts and bruises on him at all times, but it never got like this. It was always Natasha who's danced to closely with death, she took the big risks that few people would dare to take. I guess that's what happens when you're raised to be a sacrifice.

For lack of a better idea, Natasha took his hand in hers, threading their fingers together like Clint always would when she was injured and he was by her side. She always knew that the roles would be reversed one day, though that day had come too soon; any day would've been too soon for Natasha.

That's how she spent the next week, hand in hand with a virtual corpse, doing nothing but hoping and waiting for life to return to her partner. She was grateful that Bobbi was there. They spoke little, but Natasha liked having her around. Fury and Coulson stayed too, and that made Natasha restless. Why were they still here, didn't they have better things to do than hang out in a hospital with a comatose agent? Those thoughts occasionally gnawed at her, but she largely ignored them, she was trained not to question her superiors.

"What's this all like for you, Natasha?" Bobbi asked her one evening after dinner.

"What?" She had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

"Working for SHIELD, the organization that wants nothing more than to bring down the one that trained you. You used to fight against us, now you're with us, is it weird?" Bobbi had always wondered, but hadn't had the courage to ask until now.

"Honestly, it's more or less the same." Natasha shrugged, as if it were a proper answer.

"Really?"

"Eh, same story different version. There isn't any clear-cut 'good' and 'bad' in this line of work, both sides are more or less the same, doesn't really matter who I'm killing for, I'm still killing."

"Well, that's just the work. What about you, personally? How do you feel about your own life on the other side? Are you happy, Natasha?"

"Sometimes." She gave another shrug.

"As opposed to...?"

"I was happy sometimes there too." Bobbi and Natasha stared at each other in silence for a long time, neither one saying anything until Bobbi spoke up again.

"Who would you rather have?" She asked softly, knowing she was venturing into dangerous waters. Natasha gave her a small complimentary smile. Bobbi knew it wasn't about the big organizations, loyalty to faceless, nameless entities meant nothing to Natasha, Bobbi knew it had to something closer, something personal. Natasha looked away from Bobbi and back at Clint, she thought he might actually look his age in this hospital bed. He'd hate that.

"I'd rather have him." She admitted, so quietly that Bobbi almost couldn't hear. The companionable silence between the two of them settled again, and they spoke about nothing else for the remainder of the day. Early the next morning Bobbi was called back to New York to assist on an op; Natasha was sorry to see her go.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning on the 15th day of the hospital Clint finally woke up. By that time both Fury and Coulson had given up the wait, leaving back to NY. Natasha had passed out bent over in the chair beside his bed, her hand interlocked with his with her forehead resting on the edge of the bed. At first she heard a slight uptick in the beeping of the monitors that had incessantly hammered at her for days on end, then a groan. She snapped her head up and Clint was stirring slightly in his bed, she clutched his hand even tighter, grabbing his hand with both of hers.

"Clint?" She tried, hoping he would hear, would respond. His head flopped over in her direction and his eyes fluttered open, his grey eyes that were almost lost, and he muttered something unintelligible.

Clint felt like he'd been hit by a truck, or, more accurately like a building had fell of him. Everything, absolutely everything, hurt. And everything was thick and foggy, he couldn't think and he couldn't move, it was agonizing. He tried to shake his head out, but only managed to move his head to one side, though he now opened his eyes. Red, red and green and white. Natasha? He tried to ask but the words got all jumbled together in his throat and he felt something on his hand too, was it hers? Yes, yes this was Natasha, the fog began to clear and he knew that was her now. He would know those eyes anywhere. Clint looked around to get a better handle on his surrounding. A hospital, great. Heart rate wires on his chest, he knew the smell of antiseptic and the feel of an IV drip all too well, there was no mistaking this.

He scrambled to remove this breathing tube from his nose, but his hands were stayed by Natasha's and he was too weak to fight her so he let her take his hand back down to his side. A moment later he discovered why they had him on oxygen when he tried to take a deep breath and acute pain shot threw him, he nearly passed out all over again.

Then he saw doctors come in, doctors and nurses with clipboard and questions and tests and this was always the worst part. There was a flurry of movement but something was off, it was quiet, unnaturally quiet for a hospital, it unnerved him. He looked around at all the faces, none familiar except for Natasha's and began to panic. He grabbed Natasha's hand and squeezed tight, too tight. He felt her stiffen and suddenly the doctors were gone, and he saw only Natasha and he began to calm down again. He looked up at her, she was talking, her lips were moving but there was no sound. He reached up and placed a hand on her throat, felt the vibrations to make sure but there was still only silence.

A piece of paper was shoved in his face with Natasha's neat print on it.

**Clint, can you hear me?**

No, he couldn't.


	6. Chapter 6

**First and foremost, I would like to offer all of you my sincerest apologies that I haven't updated literally all summer. We had a death in the computer family, and my poor little guy just up and quit on me. But, my big brother brought his computer home from his girlfriend's house so I figured I should probably write something. **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter and please, please review!**

"What do you mean there's nothing you can do for him? This is a goddamn hospital, fix him." Natasha was absolutely seething. She couldn't believe that in the entire fucking building that nobody had any means of finding a solution to Clint's hearing.

Shortly after they discovered that Clint had lost his hearing, the doctors rushed in to do yet another round of tests and found that both of Clint's ear canals had collapsed in the explosion causing his eardrums to rupture as well. In short, he couldn't hear a damn thing anymore.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we simply don't have the resources to help him. Restoring hearing in a collapsed ear canal, even with a hearing aid, is very difficult, and we don't have the supplies or the medical know-how here to help him."

Natasha wanted to strangle this fucking doctor.

"Fine, if you can't help him, I'm taking him stateside." Natasha turned to leave the doctor, wanting to go back to Clint's room when the doctor's hand closed around her wrist.

"Ma'am, you can't…" He began, but his words were soon choked off by a cry of pain as Natasha pried his fingers from her, her hand locking the joints in his, giving her total control over his upper body.

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do. If you can't help him, I'm going to find someone who can. You are no longer of use to me so I suggest you stay out of my way." She roughly released the doctor and left him standing in the hallway rubbing his now bruised hand and wishing this woman had never shown up here.

Natasha arrived back at Clint's room just as he did, his testing having been completed. She motioned for the nurse wheeling his hospital bed in before her so she could make a call outside his room. As she dialed her phone she realized that whether she was inside or outside the room wouldn't make much of a difference to Clint anymore, he couldn't hear what she had to say anyways.

"Coulson, I need medical transport back to base. Sooner rather than later, preferably." The anger had faded from her when she saw Clint, only to be replaced by her usual cold and clinical tone.

"Medical transport? He just woke up Romanoff."

"There have been some unexpected changes in his condition." She responded shortly.

"What kind of changes?" Coulson asked warily.

"Clint's deaf."

"What do you mean Clint's deaf?"

"I mean he can't fucking hear, Coulson."

"Yeah, I got that Romanoff, thanks for clearing that up. I mean how."

"Collapsed ear canal plus ruptured eardrum in both ears equals deafness. It's pretty simple really. Just get him home, I don't care how you do it." She abruptly hung up on him before he had a chance to respond and took a deep breath before pushing the hospital door open.

She walked in to find a frustrated nurse fussing over an even more frustrated Clint as she tried to hook him back into the various machines monitoring him and his IVs. For a largely incapacitated man, Clint sure was giving that poor nurse hell.

"I'll take it from here." Natasha intervened, taking the wire for heart monitor from her hands. The nurse sighed in relief, shooting Natasha an incredibly grateful look as she backed off to let Natasha in.

The moment the stepped in, placing her hand lightly on Clint's chest with her eyes locked onto his, he calmed down, surrendering himself to her as she worked diligently over him. There was a certain intensity to Natasha, in the way she became so absorbed in everything she did, in the way she moved, in her stern face as she concentrated on the task before her. Her cool, collected demeanor washed over Clint and he felt safe again.

When Natasha was done, the nurse checked over everything to make sure it was all correct, then, with murmur of approval, she left the room. The silence that settled was heavy and uneasy, the only noise was Clint's ragged breathing and the steady tempo of the heart monitor beeping quietly.

And it was strikingly weird, this silence. Neither of them were particularly chatty people, in fact, they spent most of their time together not talking. Natasha and Clint both had a deep and abiding appreciation to silence; they found it easy and comfortable. But there was some vague, intangible difference between elected silence and forced silence. In all likelihood, they wouldn't be talking now even if Clint could heat, but because he couldn't, and that option was taken away from them, it was so eerie, unsettling.

Natasha fixed her gaze downward to their hands, only looking up when she felt Clint slide his hand out from beneath hers. She looked up curiously, her head cocked slightly to one side as she watched Clint's hands. Her eyes sparked with recognition as she watching Clint's hands form all too familiar shapes and patterns.

"You sign, Natasha?" He asked without a word.

"Of course." She responded, her own hands moving rapidly, the feeling of the words on her hands just as fluid as when the words rolled off her tongue in a dozen different languages. Clint rolled at his eyes at her response, he should've know she'd know sign language, she knew practically everything else.

A dopey grin creased Clint's face as he looked up at Natasha, he felt much better knowing he could still talk to her even if, you know, he couldn't talk. It made him feel a lot less helpless.

"How'd you learn?" He asked.

"Just like I learned everything else." She shrugged, and he nodded stiffly. "How about you?"

"Circus." He signed back. "Let's just say it was a very unique lot of people I grew up around. So what's going to happen to me, Tasha?" He had been kept waiting around for hours with no help and no answers and was dying to know what was going on.

Natasha filled him in on everything that had happened since their communication lines had been cut after the building went under. Clint watched her hands intently as she tried to tell him everything as fast as she could, though he was a little rusty and had to tell her to slow down more than once.

"So I'm going back to base for treatment?" Clint asked as she was nearing the end of her story.

"Yeah, hopefully. I'm still waiting to hear back from Coulson." Both pairs of hands settled into their laps as Clint digested everything Natasha had just told him. What did she mean when the doctor said fixing him would be 'very difficult'? There had to be a fix, right? He didn't even want to think about the other possibility.

About three hours later Natasha's phone rang again. She answered without hesitation.

"Romanoff." She barked into the receiver.

"I got your medical transport. Fury doesn't like it, but we've got facilities here prepped for him. I had his medical files forwarded to Mccoy who sent them off to another doctor whom he thinks can help. We're flying him in now."

"Another doctor, why can't Mccoy do it?" She knew another random doctor who put Clint even more on edge. There was a slight rustling on the other end of the line and the voice that responded was none other than SHIELD's CMO.

"Because I'm a goddamn trauma surgeon, Agent Romanoff. And you must be out of your mind if you think transporting him trans-Atlantic not 24 hours after he's woken up from a coma with severed injuries is a good idea." The disapproval in his voice was more than she'd ever heard, and she'd been scolded an awful lot by him.

"Look, the longer Clint is subjected to constant medical supervision without his hearing the more wound up he's going to get. Clint's a bad enough patient with all his senses; you want to deal with him with the added pressure of having lost one of them? I don't think so. When's transport getting here?" There was some more rusting and her handler was back.

"They'll be there in an hour. See you both soon." The line went dead and Natasha turned to let Clint know they were almost home.

* * *

"How does it look, Doc?" Natasha bit her lip nervously, her arms crossed tightly across her chest as Mccoy finished up his examination. He hesitated before answering, which never meant anything good.

"It's bad, Romanoff. I'm not sure there is a fix to this." He saw Natasha's anger flare up and continued speaking before she had a chance to respond. "Let's wait to see what the other doctor had to say, he's the expert in this stuff, not me."

"When's he supposed to get here?" She snapped impatiently. It felt like all she'd done is wait for the past three weeks and she was sick of it.

"He just got in, Coulson's escorting him down now."

Natasha and Mccoy waited outside Clint's room for the doctor, he'd nodded off while they'd been talking and neither of them felt the need to wake him. Natasha had been pacing absent mindedly, not thinking about much of anything as they waited and she felt a calmness settle in her.

That calm was shattered as Coulson rounded the corner to the hallway with the new doctor in tow and she felt the blood drain from her face. When the doctor looked up from the files in his hands his eyes immediately locked onto hers, and time stopped as she was met by a pair of eyes all too familiar.

Natasha was snapped back into reality by the sound of Coulson's voice, ever calm and steady.

"Doctor, please put the gun down." Only then did Natasha realize that he'd drawn a weapon and had it leveled shakily at her. She should draw her own weapon, that's what she was trained to do, but she didn't. Instead, she lifted her hands in the universal gesture of surrender, though the good doctor could not be swayed.

"Put the gun down or I will call security." Coulson was still trying to reason with him, but Natasha knew it was pointless.

"No!" The doctor snapped back, his face reddening with rage. "She killed my daughter."


End file.
